


The Girl in the Attic

by rubywallace25



Series: The Girl in the Attic [1]
Category: In the Loop (2009) & The Thick of It, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubywallace25/pseuds/rubywallace25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the confusing world of Sam Cassidy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovefool

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Lovefool by The Cardigans.

To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish in sickness and in health, till death us do part.

Sam wasn’t listening, she’d never been listening, as the man behind her thumped up the stairs, her mind was somewhere else.

On autopilot her numb fingers find the keys at the bottom of her handbag, it had been raining, that much she could remember, the rest, the rest Sam washed with the aftertaste of sour white wine.

She doesn’t like wine, oh of course she drinks it, she drinks it mainly because that’s what people expected her to do.

Somehow a pint of still cider jars with her image, at least in other peoples’ minds.

He’s talking again, and Sam knows she should be listening, or at least trying to take some of it in, but she can’t, everything from the neck up is numb.

Sam can’t turn her brain off, she can’t stop thinking, she wants to stop it all, maybe this will actually work.

She can do this.

“This is me.” Sam smiles, it’s a good smile, lots of bright white teeth, only the most observant would ever notice that the smile in question never makes it up to her eyes.

He’s not observant, he is a blue-sky thinking, Coldplay listening TWAT.

But, that’s what Sam wants.

Her fingers find the light switch, illuminating the three small rooms she calls her own.

One windowless bathroom.

One master-bedroom, only big enough to squeeze a queen-sized bed, and a canvas wardrobe.

One living room/dinning room/kitchen.

All present and all depressingly correct.

Once Sam had loved this little flat, once she had laid in bed staring up at the cracks in the low hanging ceiling, wondering about the lives of the people who had lived in this attic before her, before them.

Probably servants, but every now at then, when she was feeling at her most romantic, Sam would imagine that her flat was haunted by the ghost of some penniless Victorian poet.

The stories that children tell themselves. 

“It’s nice, it’s a nice place you have here.” His lack of sincerity is palpable. 

Peeling off her damp trench coat it strikes Sam that the man standing before her might actually be trying to be sincere, that, that had been his attempt.

She feels like laughing, or crying, usually she does both, but only on the weekends.

“It’s big for round here.”

He makes small talk, while Sam heads in the direction of her fridge, a bottle of half opened Blossom Hill waiting for her.

Glasses, she still hasn’t done the washing up, any washing up in days, the kitchen, her flat is starting to smell.

“I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to remind me, what your name is again.” Sam asks, as she gives to coffee mugs a quick rinse under the hot tap.

“Adam, ah, Adam Kenyon.” Adam replies, he doesn’t sound put out at all by Sam’s question, then again why would he, she’s an attractive woman, and their going to have sex tonight, what does it matter if she doesn’t know his name.

As Sam empties the last of the wine into the two mugs, she wonders if she actually is going to sleep with Adam Kenyon.

He’s just so bland.

No bland, bland is good.

Good is bland.

Nice is boring.

Sam hasn’t met a genuinely nice person in years, they’re like the famous Dog-Headed people they use to put on old maps, they exist somewhere else, only no-ones quite sure where that is.

Adam is busy studying the collection of pictures that litter her mantelpiece.

“Are you married?” He asks her, squinting at Sam’s wedding picture.

She takes a sip from her mug, the only picture she’s forgotten to take down.

Making her way across the room Sam joins Adam to stand before the mantelpiece, she hands him the second mug, which he takes, and while she does this she stares at the picture of her own face.

She’s happy and young, and oh so stupid.  
“So wait, is that Malcolm Tucker.”

Sam takes her eyes off her own face, leaning in reaching out behind her wedding photograph is indeed a picture of Sam with her boss Malcolm Tucker, Jamie McDonald is in it as well, but Adam doesn’t mention him.

“Fuck me, it really is a small world.”

It really isn’t.

“So, you’re on the opposition.”

A smug smile invades the corner of Adam’s mouth as Sam places the picture of her, Malcolm and Jamie, behind the wedding photo of her and her husband Ed, the lying gay bastard.

“I’m just a PA.” And I’m getting a divorce, because my lying gay bastard of a husband decided that after nine years he was more of a cock man.

“Oh really, well that’s not to bad Samantha, at least they’ll keep you on when the regime changes.”

No, Sam’s already decided that when the regime changes she’s leaving with it.

“What’s he like to work for?” Adam nods in the direction of Malcom’s image.

What is Malcolm Tucker like to work with?

Fun.

Strange.

Scary.

“I don’t really know, I just answer his phone.” 

Adam’s expression changes, she’s seen that look before, she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Bit odd though isn’t it, keeping a photo of Malcolm Tucker.”

Sam has never thought about it before, the truth is, the photo had only survived because she thought she looked nice in it, why else would she have kept it.

“Do you want to fuck me.” She’s tired of talking, talking to anyone, especially someone like Adam.

Sam can’t help but laugh as the contents of Adam’s mouth full of wine explode down the front of his shirt.

“Yes. Please.”

Adam manages to cough out between spluttering gasps.

Knocking back the last of the contents of her mug, and discarding it in front of Malcom Tucker’s face blocking his view, Sam takes Adam’s hand and leads him in the direction of her bedroom.


	2. Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has read this so far, and for all the kudos, it means a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fools Rush In- Bow Wow Wow

“I had sex with a Liberal Democrat last night.”

That was Sam’s opening gambit.

No, hello.

No, how are things.

As soon as she’d heard her best friend Lucy’s voice on the other end of the phone Sam had ejaculated her confession.

Ejaculated, her face screws up at the very thought of the word.

Sam is sitting on the bus.

She prefers to use the bus on weekends, she likes chance it affords her, that brief respite of watching other people’s lives, staring through their living room windows imagining the world’s beyond.

She doesn’t get the chance to do that week days, there’s no space for imagining at Number 10, it’s all just rush and work and rush and sleep.

Is she wasting her life?

Had Ed been right?

Why was she still a PA, what had happened to the plan?

“Did you use protection?” Lucy giggled.

Sam has known the other woman on the line for twelve years, twelve actual years, where did all that time go?

It was the usually story, Sam and Lucy had lived on the same landing, in the same halls at University.

Sam had been reading History and English Literature, and Lucy had been studying Drama, ordinarily their paths would never have intersected, but they had, and here they are twelve years later, Lucy having escaped to the country, with a job at the local primary school, a perfectly stable girlfriend and a new baby, and Sam a thirty-one almost divorcee. 

“Yes, I think so.” Sam tries hard not to remember.

So far the previous night is just an awkward blur, she’s going to try and leave it that way for as long as possible.

Stay vague. 

“That’s good though, you’re moving on.”

Sam isn’t moving on.

She wants to milk Ed’s betrayal for every inch of sympathy she can, if she still owned her wedding dress she’d start wearing it to work, she’d do her food shopping with it on, she’d wear a cardboard sign around her neck declaring her DUMPED status.

Why shouldn’t she appear as mental and broken on the outside as she is on the inside?

Other people’s sensibilities, that’s the answer.

Plus, if Sam wore her old wedding dress in the office she wouldn’t be able to fit through Malcolm’s door, to bring him his hot beverage of choice.

Oh God, Ed was right, she’s nothing more than a glorified Teas-made.

“Are you going to see him, again?”

“Have you seen, Ed?”

Sam and Lucy’s questions overlap, so that they both become the same voice, the same question.

“Sam, don’t.”

That’s a yes, then.

The bus comes to a jarring halt, Sam goes with it, she lets her body sink back into the rough, word fabric of the seat beneath her.

Through the window she sees a family; it had to be a family, Mum and Dad, her age maybe, slightly older, possibly, and the buggy, the obligatory massively oversized buggy, which contains a precious Sophia or an Oliver.

The bus pulls away again, leaving the trio behind.

“Is he still staying at the hotel?”

Another pause, followed by an intake of breath, this is going to be bad.

“Sammy, where are you?”

Sam riles at that nickname, because that was Ed’s.

“I’m on the bus.” Sam manages a jolly sounding tone.

“Where are you going?” Lucy is stalling for time.

“Work.”

“Oh Sam no, it’s Saturday, it’s sunny. Why on Earth are you going to work?”

Because she’d needed a reason to get Adam to leave her flat.

Because there’s only so much walking around in the fresh air any one person can do.

Because all she wants to do is lay in the middle of her bed and cry.

Because Sam has nothing else.

“Where is he living? When did you see him?”

With an exhale of breath Lucy gives up, she folds in with the weight of Sam’s questions like soggy cardboard.

“He’s Livi’s Godfather, I couldn’t exactly turn him away.”

Someone through a bucket of ice cold water over Sam’s head, only they didn’t, she just wished they had, because then at least her feelings would have some context, plus she could get good and angry at someone, anyone other than Lucy.

“He’s staying with you?” Sam says the sentence through tightly gritted teeth.

“It’s only for a little while, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

That’s a lie.

“I’d do the same for you, if you asked me.” Lucy volunteers.

Maybe Sam should take her up on the offer, pack a bag, catch a train, share a room in her best friend’s house, with her husband.

Just like old times.

“If he’d been shagging another woman behind my back, would you still be as supportive.” 

“You already know the answer to that.”

Yes, she does, before there’d been Ed and Sam, there had been Ed and Lucy, Sam had been the other woman the first time around.

They’d all just been playing at relationships then.

“Have you met HIM?” Sam half chokes on the word.

“No. Ed knows the deal, Meg and I, are happy to have him stay, but not his, well you’re still my favourite.”

Sam finds herself smiling.  
“Are they really an item?” Does her husband really have a new boyfriend.

“I don’t know, I think it’s still early days.”

That’s worse, Ed has left her for someone he’s not even in a relationship with, well he had turned out to be gay, the helpful voice in the back of her head reminds her.

“Ten years,” Sam mutters the mantra she’s now learned off by heart.

“I’ve wasted ten years. Ten actual years off my life, other wise know as my entire twenties, on a man who pushed me aside as if I was nothing more than a shirt he didn’t like the colour of anymore.”

“It’s not like that. Ed still care about you, he’s worried about you, Sam he told me about the ham and cheese call.”

Sam internally shrinks at the mention of the phone call, the late night, drunken call she’d made to Ed, where she describe their marriage as a ham and cheese sandwich over and over again, she doesn’t even like ham and cheese together.

That night it had meant something to her, it had come to symbolise everything Sam still loved about her husband.

She’s still in love with him.

But he’s just, he’s stopped, he’s not there any more.

Get over it.

The bell on the bus sounds, and for some reason Sam decides that this is her stop, even though she doesn’t know where the bus is planning on stopping, just get off, get off the bus.

“I’m worried about you. Have you thought any more about the holiday?”

Sam gets up out of her seat, making her way down the bus, edging her way around a pushchair. 

“It’s just one of those things you say to someone when you don’t know what else to say.”

“I wish my boss would invite me on holiday.”

It wasn’t a holiday.

It’s not a holiday.

It will be working, she will be working because Malcolm will be working.

“It’s not a holiday, its Washington, its meetings lots and lots of meetings.”  
Big important, should we go to war meetings, she keeps that last thought to herself.

“Are you going to see him, again?”

The bus stops and Sam steps out into the warm London sunshine, everything smells.

“Who?”

Sam’s confused by Lucy’s question as the doors snap shut behind her.

“The Lib Dem?”

No, of course she isn’t going to see him again, on no account is she seeing him again, it had been a horrible terrible idea, and…well…she did still have his number in her phone, and well did she really want to go to work on such a sunny, smelly day?

“I’m going.”

Where?

“Sam.”

Where is she going?

“Give Liv a big kiss from me, tell her Aunty Sam loves her the mostest.”

Lucy exhales a little huff.

“I will.”

“I love you too a little bit, and Meg.”

“I know.”

Lucy is gone, and Sam is still clutching the phone to the side of her head.

Work or not work.

Even if she chooses not work, there’s nothing to say Adam would want to see her again, and isn’t it giving out the wrong message.

So, why is she calling him?

Adam picks up on the second ring, does he know her number?

“Samantha, hi.”

Yes, yes he does.

“Oh, hello Adam.”  
Sam’s mind suddenly goes horribly blank, all the words she’s learned just vanish, leaving her all alone staring into space.

“Nice to hear from, you.”

Is that code for something, it’s been such a long time since she did this, Sam has forgotten.

“Umm, yes.” Well this is seriously riveting stuff Sam.

She remembers with a jolt the lie she had told about work.

“I got away,” WHAT!

From where the asylum?

“From work, I got away from work, turns out they don’t need me after all, so…”

Her heart is beating very, very fast.

“That drink, are you free now?”


	3. Just Us on the Kitchen Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unholy War-Amy Winehouse.

Jamie McDonald fell in love with Samantha Cassidy on the 21st December 2007.

Alright, so he’d noticed Sam before that, she was the sort of woman that you noticed, unless you were blind, or gay, or both.

Then you’d probably smell her.

Put simply Sam smells amazing, always the same perfume, jasmine and roses, he knows exactly what it is, he’d asked her what it was called on the pretext of buying it for the woman he was already intending to dump, sour faced cow. 

He’s got a bottle of it stashed away at the back of his sock drawer at home, but it the perfume doesn’t come close to how it smells when Sam is wearing it.

So, how did this life changing realisation strike Jamie, at the annual we’ve made it through another year without fucking up monumentally, and starting another war parties, otherwise known as The Office Christmas Party.

Even in Whitehall you can’t escape shit like that.  
Malcolm had been swilling down his traditional orange juice laced with curare, while looking as if he wasn’t storing all of this away for later.

The DOSAC twats were in force, well why not, they’ve got fuck all to look forward to for the rest of the year.

And Sam was drinking.

She was really, really putting them away, it made Jamie notice.

Out of character behaviour reminded him that he’d once been a journalist that had been his job, he’d worked on the same paper as Malcolm and he’d been paid to mainly look through bins.

Jamie McDonald was a very good bin diver, he could get any dirt on anyone mainly because he didn’t care what he had to do to get it, anything, everything, he’d lived for it.

Now he was little more than Malcolm Tucker’s attack dog.

That should change.

Jamie had watched Sam as she’d been chatting away with Glenn and Terri, cradling her fifth glass of wine, when Ollie had slithered into view. 

No way was that happening.

“Fuck off!”

That was Jamie’s opening gambit, he didn’t pretend to be a wordsmith when it came it insults, he’d wanted Ollie to fuck off, so he’d told him to do exactly that.

“Now steady on Jamie, I don’t think there’s any reason to use language like that in front of a lady and Terri, its Christmas.”

Glenn spluttered in.

“Oh fuck off, Tiny Tim!”

It was a crap rejoinder, Jamie knew it, Glenn knew it, Ollie knew it, Sam knew it, and worst of all even Terri had noticed.

“Right, well for a start Glenn’s not a cripple.”

Terri blustered.

Sam stifled a laugh behind her glass.

“Well, on that bombshell, I think it’s about time for me to get a taxi home.”

Sam announced after glancing down at the thin golden watch that had hung from her perfect wrist.

“Goodnight Terri.”

Jamie watched as she leaned in and actually hugged Terri, Sam had planted a kiss on Glenn’s cheek.

“Which, way are you going?”

Ollie had followed Sam, so Jamie had followed him, and they’d both been watching her as she put her coat on.

“Upper Street, Islington.”

Sam answered, catching Malcolm’s eye and giving him a casually wave goodbye.

“Oh that’s, that’s not far from me actually, maybe we could share.”

Sam was drunk.

Jamie watched her button up her winter coat, all the wrong buttons in all the wrong holes, he decided then that no-one was sharing a cab home with Sam except for him.

“Um yeah, maybe.”

Sam said as she’d dragged the strap of her handbag across her body.

She’d looked ridiculous.

Jamie had followed Sam and Ollie all the way out to the front of the building, to the line of taxis that had been paid to wait for them with tax payers’ money.

Just as Ollie had been about to slip into the taxi next to Sam, Jamie had got there first, and slammed the door in his face, he’d wished it had been his head, but that’s life.

“Upper Street, Islington, please mate, flog the horses to death.”

Jamie had flipped Ollie the Vs to triumph as the taxi had pulled away.

“Take that you poxbridge, twat!”

“What?”

Jamie had been so caught up in beating Ollie, in winning his seat in the back of the taxi next to Sam, that he’d almost forgotten she was actually there it was only the sound of her voice, her strained question that had reminded him.

“What are you doing here, you’re not the other one?”

Sam was very, very drunk, sunk down in her seat, her legs stretched out in front of her, she had the appearance of a doll that had been dressed up for a party by a two year old.

“I murdered him.”

Jamie smiled, sinking down into his own seat next to her.

Sam had laughed again, a proper belly laugh.

She was lovely.

“You fallen off the wagon, then lass?”

Jamie had used his real voice, his non-shouty I’m about to glass you in the face voice. 

The one he used when addressing his family members, or in a job interview, or well, basically what had become his ‘outside of work’ voice.

Sam had been digging around inside her bag, dropping the odd tissue, 2 pence piece, and tampon as she’d merrily searched for something at the bottom.

“Pack light don’t, ye.”

“Aren’t we running away together, got to bring the essentials.”

Sam had teased him, as she’d continued to look for whatever it was that had captured her attention.

At this point Jamie wasn’t even sure if she knew it was him she was talking to.

“What some mouldy old tissues, and 2p, that’s gonna get us far.”

“Isn’t that what you live on in, Scotland?”

She said Scotland as if she was clearing some phlegm from the back of her throat, and Jamie wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything so sexy. 

Christ, she was fit.

And she had fags, that’s what she’d been looking for all that time, Jamie hadn’t even known she smoked.

Out came the fag packet, and Jamie had watched as she’d dragged one of the cigarettes into the corner of her mouth.

Fucking hell, he had a fucking semi.

“Do you want one?”

Sam had innocently proffered the packet in his general direction, and Jamie wondered if she actually knew the game she was playing.

“No smoking.”

The cabbie had warned them.

“We’re just holding them, alright pal.”

Jamie had tried his best not to release all his pent up frustration on some poor minimum wage taxi driver, but fuck he wanted to shag something, or murder something.

“I didn’t know you did that?”

He held up the cigarette in his hand.

“I stopped. Tonight is my I’m not pregnant, again, vice night. I thought well, it’s Christmas isn’t it. So, why the fuck not.”

I’m not pregnant again, Jamie sat in silence chewing over those words for a moment, watching as the world had passed him in an off-black and orange blur.

Sam had leaned in close to him, and whispered in the way only a really drunk person can.

“Ssush, don’t tell Malcolm, but we’re trying for a baby.”

It was then that Jamie had remembered the rings, the fact that Sam was already married to someone else.

That’s what married people did, they had kids, Jesus, even Glenn and Nicola Murray had kids.

“Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

Sam had relaxed back into her seat.

“I’m twenty-seven, it’s not that out of the ordinary is it? I’m not fourteen. I’m not putting motherhood on hold for my career, I don’t have a career, that’s what Ed says, he says I’m a cross between a blackberry and a maid. I’m a Maidberry.”

Sam’s husband sounded like a tosser, which was good, it gave Jamie reason to hate him.

“You’re more than a Maidberry, whatever the fuck that is.”

Sam had sort of cuddled against him them, with a sleepy smile on her face, and Jamie had wanted to stop time forever, this was the moment, the one he wanted to keep, his happy place, but the wheels kept spinning and then they stopped.  
“Is this me?”

Sam had asked the cabbie, who’d reply had crushed Jamie’s fantasies; this is where he’d lose her, this is where real life would sink back in.

“I’ll walk, ye.”

Before she could complain, Jamie was out and following her again, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

“That use to be The Angel, it was a coaching Inn, but they knocked it down.”

Sam had said point at a building as they’d rounded a corner, Jamie gave the building a few moments of his scant attention, before moving on.

“How do you know that?”

“History, I read history at Uni. I like history.”

It was an admission Jamie hadn’t expect, but he liked it, Sam had told him something about herself that Ollie and Glenn didn’t know, something that Malcolm would have forgotten after he’d read her CV.

Jamie had no interest in history.

“I like history, too.”

He’d lied, he was lying to gain the attention of a married woman who was trying for a baby with her husband, he need to get a grip.

“Ye live a fair bit away don’t you?”

“I live in the blue house at the top.”

The blue house Sam pointed to, was tall and long with peeling paint and a rundown air, it wasn’t the sort of place Jamie had imagined her living in.

“It’s a lot bigger on the inside.”

She told him, evidentially having read his thoughts from his face.

Sam lit her cigarette.

“Thanks. This has been nice.”

And then just like that Samantha Cassidy was gone, and Jamie McDonald realised he was in love with her.


	4. Sam and Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this story is set in the same AU as 'Malcolm Tucker's Daughter' it's the same Sam and Malcolm only before they got together.
> 
> Having written a scene in MTD, where Sam and Adam bump into each other again, I liked the idea, of writing about the early part of their relationship, so here it is.

Compared to the brilliant sunshine outside, the bar was stuffy and dark, full of chatter and stray elbows, Sam fought her way to the bar, ordering a gin and tonic, which she drank quickly.

She felt nervous.

It was odd, she hadn’t felt nervous around a man in years, she was a married woman…

Only she wasn’t.

Go, go home, just leave, he’ll never know, he won’t care.

Sam had remembered her conversation with her best friend Lucy, how everyone else was moving on except for her, and then she’d thought of Malcolm.

Her boss Malcolm Tucker, who had been divorced the entire time she’d worked for him, who still wore his wedding ring, Sam didn’t want to end up like that, shackled to a ghost, her failure.

So, she ordered another gin and tonic, and made her way out into the crowded beer garden.

From darkness to light.

Adam was there, perched on the edge of a bench, head down scowling through his phone, a half full pint of Guinness in front of him.

Pretentious, is Sam’s first thought.

“Samantha!”

Sam doesn’t really like being addressed by her full name, for as long as she can remember she’s always just been Sam, or Sammy, or occasionally Salmonella, but perhaps it’s time for her to embrace her inner Samantha.

“Hi.”

She clutches her drink tightly to her chest, as Adam plants a kiss on both of her cheeks.

It’s been eleven years since Sam felt this awkward around someone she has slept with.

University Sam would have been cracking jokes and…

“Listen Adam,”

So, she turns on her woefully underused UniSam setting, and basically asks Adam if he wants to have sex with her again, now, well after he’s finished his drink.

 

 

 

“Fuck me.”

Adam observed breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in the shade of the hastily drawn bedroom curtains.

Sam sat up, her chin resting against her knees as she’d lit herself a cigarette.

With the cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, Sam had settled herself back against her pillow, staring up at the shaft of sunlight on the ceiling above her

Things like that always irritated Ed, gaps in curtains, pictures on an angle.

The night he’d left her, drunk and tearful, half a bottle of Rose in her hand, Sam had gone about placing all the pictures they possessed on an angle, that or smashing them to pieces with Ed’s cricket bat.

It hadn’t made her feel any better, in the morning she’d had a terrible hangover, her hands had been cut to ribbons and all her photos were at funny angles.

Taking a deep drag, Sam offers Adam her cigarette, he takes it, and she rolls onto her side to watch his face.

Her husband Ed had been handsome, everyone had commented on it, tall, dark and handsome, Adam wasn’t any of those things, but his face was pleasant, her Mum would probably like him.

“What did you mean last night, about regime change?”

Sam asks, as she rests one hand underneath her ear. 

“Well, you’re lot aren’t going to get back in, are they?”

Adam squints as he exhales a cloud of grey smoke.

Sam stares at the stumble on his chin.

“The shit party is finally over.”

She laughs, and Adam grins handing her back the cigarette.

“Thank fuck for that, no more Nutters. I’d love to see the look on Reeder’s fucking face when the numbers come in, the oily cunt.”

Sam coughs a little, the smoke getting caught up with her laugh.

“You’ve met, Ollie.”

“No, never, but if I ever fucking see him, I’ll beat him to death with a fucking bic pen. That wank stain is the reason I got the bullet from The Mail, he essentially ruined my life, if it wasn’t for Fergus, I’d be back living with my parents in fucking Bath.”  
“I’ve always thought, Bath was quite a nice City.”

Sam teases Adam, feeling a little more relaxed than she had done when they’d both been fully clothed and surrounded by people back in the beer garden.

“Maybe, I’ll take a picture of Ollie’s face on my phone.”


End file.
